


Untidy Beginnings

by DelphiPsmith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Choices, Diagon Alley, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hogwarts, Muggles, Sorting Ceremony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith/pseuds/DelphiPsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a child by the name of Dursley appears in the <i>Book of Admittance</i>, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall must sort out how to handle this delicate situation.  Surprises ensue for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untidy Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 [Minerva Fest](http://minerva-fest.livejournal.com). Original prompt: "I would like to see how Headmistress McGonagall informs Dudley Dursley and his wife that their child has been accepted to Hogwarts, and what that means. How do each of the family members react? Do they have any contact with the Potters? Bonus if we see the shopping trip to Diagon Alley and the Sorting."
> 
> According to JKR[(1)](http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/article/interview-j-k-rowling), Minerva checks the _Book of Admittance_ only once a year. I have chosen to interpret this as meaning that the _Book_ only reveals names once a year. In other words, although you can see all the lists of past students, looking ahead you can only see the next incoming set of First Years – you can't flip ahead and see who will be at Hogwarts ten years from now.

Minerva closed the door to her office with a mingled sense of relief and anticipation. The gargoyle had been told not to let anyone in for the next hour, so she could rely on being undisturbed -- barring some sort of catastrophe that demanded the personal attention of the Headmistress. Which was not impossible, given the fact that there were once again Weasleys at Hogwarts. Victoire might have her mother's golden hair and bewitching smile, but there was no doubt she was her father's daughter. The Sorting Hat had barely touched her head before shouting "Gryffindor!" and she was already known among her mates as a prankster of the first order. And now that her cousin James was here, the two of them fed off each other's audacity, raising it to truly dizzying heights. Short-sheeting the beds was one thing, but putting Screechsnap in the cushions in the staff lounge...

Minerva shook her head briskly. Now was not the time to think about the current students. Today -- as on every fifteenth of May -- was a time to think about the new students. Owls would need to go out shortly to the incoming First Years, and personal visits would have to be made to the parents of Muggle-borns, but before any of that could be planned, she must first find out their names.

She placed herself before a round, waist-high wooden pillar that stood against the wall between the portraits of Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. Both portraits were empty at the moment but their presence wasn't necessary for her purposes, since retrieving the _Book of Admittance_ required only the request of the present Head of the school. The column was of English oak, ornately carved on its sides with vines and complicated knotwork and capped by a square, flat slab of iron upon which rested a tall crystal dome topped with a golden knob. Beneath the dome was, apparently, nothing but air.

Moving her wand in a simple spiral, Minerva said clearly, " _Ostende mihi librum_!"

The inside of the crystal dome filled with a green-gold shimmer, like sunlight shining through young leaves blowing in a silent wind. The flickering light grew in intensity, hiding the top of the pillar in its brilliance, then with a sudden flash like a silent explosion it abruptly vanished. The dome was no longer empty: beneath its protective glass was a curving iridescent quill in a silver ink-stand and a large volume bound in dragon hide. Upon the book's cover in letters of gold were written the words _Libro Admissionem_.

As Minerva levitated the dome with a flick of her wand and picked up the book, a house-elf appeared. It carried a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of egg-and-cress sandwiches.

"The Headmistress is wishing tea?" it asked.

"Thank you, Niffy," Minerva said. "As always, you know what I want before I do myself." She went to her desk, laid the book in the center of its polished surface, and sat down.

The house-elf placed the tray carefully on the desk at Minerva's elbow. "All of us are knowing that today is the day for learning the names of new students," it said, its baseball-sized eyes gleaming with excitement. "Mistress will be very busy thinking and planning and organizing, yes?"

"Yes indeed, today is the day," she acknowledged with a smile. "I must admit that I too find it quite exciting. One never knows for certain what, or rather who, one will find. Although I'm quite certain," she added ruefully, "that there will be a Weasley."

"Niffy will leave the Headmistress to her work, then." With a bow and a _pop_ Niffy disappeared.

Minerva ran her thin fingers gently across the book's cover. The _Book of Admittance_ , together with the Quill of Acceptance which inscribed its contents, had been created by the Four Founders and was one of the great magical artifacts of Hogwarts. The Quill of Acceptance detected the birth of every magical child in Great Britain and wrote his or her name in the Book of Admittance, which was then consulted each year by the current Head of the school in order to send out the letters of acceptance the summer before the start of term. Albus had hinted that he understood the spells and mechanisms behind its working, but Minerva had her doubts. Albus had been a great wizard, without question, but the _Book of Admittance_ was part and parcel of the magic that was bound into the very mortar and stones of Hogwarts, and she suspected that it might have defeated even his wisdom.

She took a sip of tea and a nibble of one of the sandwiches -- egg and cress had always been one of her favorites -- and then opened the book's cover. As always, the pages lifted and riffled of themselves until they settled on the current year. In ornate gold and blue calligraphy across the top of the right-hand page were the numerals "2015" and beneath it, as if the book wanted to be sure the reader made no mistake, the year was written out again in words: "Two Thousand Fifteen." Below this, in two neat columns, was a long list of names.

Although the Quill recorded all magical births, such births did not always result in a student attending Hogwarts -- in these modern times young people were more mobile than their parents, more likely to travel to other countries and perhaps send their children to school there. And even magical families were not immune to accident and tragedy; the Fenimores had lost their three-year-old son Dermot last year when the boy had wandered off into the woods and eaten some poisonous mushrooms. As a result there were gaps here and there in the list where names had been inscribed and later vanished

The gaps were few this year, however, which meant a large class of First Years. Minerva still found this enough of a novelty to be pleased by it. During the dark years of the First and Second Wizarding War classes had often been small, what with so many dead, fled or in hiding, but recently there had been enough students that the castle had spontaneously enlarged all four common rooms and added additional dormitory space.

"Well now, let's see who we have." She refilled her cup of tea, Summoned a quill and parchments, adjusted her spectacles, and began to read. 

The names were listed in order of birth, of course, not alphabetically, and at the top of the first column was "Fred Weasley, Jr. - Oct 1 2003." 

Minerva sighed, wondering if it would be considered rude to ask the Weasleys to space out their children more. She did a quick calculation in her head and blanched as she realized that it was entirely possible that all twelve of the next generation of Weasleys might be at Hogwarts at the same time. "There won't be a stone left standing," she muttered.

Well, at any rate this would be an easy one -- a quick owl to the boy with his letter, and his parents would take care of the rest. She jotted the name down on her parchment. Next on the list were two girls, Marguerite Dawes and Ellen Vetch, both born on October 7. Minerva hoped Ellen was better at Transfiguration than her mother; it had taken a great deal of time and effort to return that elephant at the London Zoo to its proper shape, not to mention ensuring that no one remembered its brief time as a wombat. 

Marguerite's name had an "M" beside it indicating she was Muggle-born -- that would require a personal visit from a member of Hogwarts staff to explain things to the girl's parents.

" _Interrogo_ ," she said, tapping the name, and words appeared on the parchment beside it: " _Parents: Howard Dawes, author, and Jane Margolyes, physician, No. 22 Lynwood Crescent, St. Columb Major, Cornwall._ "

Hm, a doctor. Perhaps Poppy could take this one -- common ground for conversation. Minerva made a note on her parchment. Next were the Diggory twins, Castor and Pollux , October 19 -- Cedric would have been their uncle, she realized with a pang…

An hour later the teapot was empty and she had nearly finished. Her parchment was covered with lists of things to do, thoughts on staff assignments for the Muggle-born home visits, and a note to consult with the Board of Governors on whether it might at last be time to expand the size of the faculty to cope with the growing student body. Potions in particular would benefit from a smaller class size to reduce the chance of unfortunate incidents. She read the next-to-last name.

_Frankie Dursley (M)_

For a moment Minerva couldn't think why that name should cause her to experience what she referred to as a "cat moment" -- a strong urge to arch her back and hiss. Then it came to her: the day after that night of terrible loss and inexplicable victory, of sorrow and joy, of Lily and James' death and Voldemort's defeat. She had spent the entire day in cat form, waiting, on a wall outside a certain house...

 _I've been watching them all day, Albus,_ she heard herself saying, _They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable..._

Oh, surely not. Lily had been an anomaly in the Evans family, and no child of her sister's…what had the boy's name been? Oh yes, Dudley. Surely no child of Dudley Dursley could be magical! The very thought was preposterous.

" _Interrogo_ ," she said, and read: " _Parents: Dudley Dursley, businessman, and Deirdre Grunnings Dursley, housewife, No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_."

Minerva's heart sank. The _Book of Admittance_ was incapable of mistakes, and it couldn't be a coincidence, not with that name and that address. So it must be true.

Dudley Dursley's son was coming to Hogwarts.

+++

_17 May 2015_

_Dear Mr Potter --_

_A curious and unexpected event has occurred, and I am afraid I must impose upon you to ask for your assistance in a rather delicate matter. Remarkable as it may seem, your cousin Dudley's child Frankie appears in the Book of Admittance as entering Hogwarts this coming term, in the fall of 2015. I fear that this will prove something of a shock to Mr Dursley and his wife. It would be a great favor to me if you would deliver the boy's Hogwarts letter and explain things to his parents -- I realize that you were never on the best of terms with your cousin, but since you are known to them, they will perhaps accept from you what they would find unacceptable from a stranger._

_I hope the boys and Ginny are well._

_Best regards --_

_Minerva McGonagall_

+++

_18 May 2015_

_Dear Minerva --_

_Your owl to Harry arrived yesterday. I hope it wasn't anything urgent -- he's on a long-term undercover assignment for the Auror Office so he won't be able to read it for a while. I've added it to the (ever-growing) pile of messages for him to deal with when he gets back. Since it was from you, I did check with Auror HQ to see if they could forward it to him but they said no, that he can't be reached at the moment. Or for the foreseeable future, apparently. Don't even get me started on how annoying this is. He missed our anniversary last year, the stupid prat, because he was off saving the world or something. Again._

_Sorry, sorry -- you know I don't mean it. I really am proud of him and I know what he's doing is important. But I do miss him, and it's hard never knowing when he'll be sent off again, let alone ~~if he'll ever come back~~ when he'll be home._

_Love_

_Ginny Potter_

+++

Minerva frowned as she read Ginny's letter. What Hermione referred to as Harry's "saving people thing" had only become more pronounced as the years went by; at times he seemed to feel driven to make amends for all those who had died in the final battle. Perhaps encouraging him to join the Aurors had not, after all, been a wise choice.

Regardless, this left her in a bit of a spot. Long experience -- not only her own, but that of many previous Heads -- had taught that Muggle-borns were the best choice for initiating contact with new students from a Muggle family, and at present she had no one on staff who was Muggle-born. The current Muggle Studies professor was immensely knowledgeable and very well-meaning, but tended to gush over things like traffic signals, golf, and the Royal Mail ("Imagine! It operates _completely without owls_!!"). In addition he was half-goblin, which might be alarming to non-magic folk. What she really needed was someone very patient, very even-tempered, and very, very diplomatic. Perhaps she could stretch a point and call on _former_ faculty...?

+++

_22 May 2015_

_Dear Miss Granger --_

_Or should I say Dr. Granger? Or perhaps simply, "Hermione"? Please choose whichever name will leave you best-disposed towards me, since I find myself in an awkward situation and need the assistance of Hogwarts' (former) Professor of Magico-Legal History._

_You no doubt remember Mr Potter's cousin, Dudley Dursley. Astonishing as it may seem, his son's name is in the Book of Admittance for the coming fall term. As you can imagine, the delivery of young Frankie's letter will require tact and diplomacy; there is no knowing how his father may react to the news. I would be most grateful if you would take on this task, on behalf of Hogwarts. Although it is more usual to send a current Hogwarts staff member, as a Muggle-born yourself you would be better able to understand how startling this must be for them._

_Congratulations on your recent victory in court,_ In re dracones v. Gringott's _, and the substantial settlement that resulted. Applying the reparations payment to the establishment of a foundation for draconic research was a stroke of genius, and Charlie Weasley will, I am sure, be an excellent director._

_Warmest regards --_

_Minerva McGonagall_

+++

_22 May 2015_

_Dear Minerva --_

_How lovely to hear from you! Yes, the foundation is wonderful and Charlie's already got a million plans for it, but even better is that the case sets a precedent for treatment of all magical creatures. The DMLE and DRCMC are both thrilled, thank goodness -- and did you know McNair has finally retired and they've decided not to replace him? They're doing away with his position, no more executions no matter what! I've already been asked to do a presentation at the PETMA conference in New Zealand next month and one in Geneva, plus the BMLJ wants a paper and two other journals want interviews. Even Durmstrang is considering offering a seminar in magical animal rights for their Seventh Years, can you believe it?? I've already started working on an outline with their director!_

_I really wish I could help out with the Dursleys but since the Hogwarts letters have to go out by the middle of next month and I have so much going on, I think you'd better not count on me to meet with them. I'm sure it will be fine, though -- my parents were thrilled when I got my letter, and Dudley must have mellowed over the years. I'm sure he will be too._

_Affectionately --_

_Hermione_

+++

Minerva dropped this latest missive with a surprisingly vehement exclamation. To be disappointed not once but twice by two of her favorite former students was most vexing. What on earth was she to do now?

"Tsk, language, Minerva," said a sardonic voice off to her right. "What's the problem? Your pet Gryffindors too busy saving the world to help out an old friend?"

She turned to see Severus' portrait wearing an expression of mocking amusement. "Thank you so much for your concern, Severus," she said acidly. "If you must know, I am having some difficulty finding someone to meet with a new Muggle-born student."

"Woe is me. How much simpler your life would be if only Hogwarts were restricted to Purebloods," he said with exaggerated regret.

"If that were the case, you wouldn't be here to taunt me," she retorted.

"And we both know how much you'd miss that," he smirked.

"I don't suppose you have any _helpful_ suggestions?" she said pointedly. "Don't forget I can always hang a sheet over you."

Severus' eyes narrowed at her threat. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Mistrusted in life, abused in death," he said with a theatrical, long-suffering sigh. "But really, the answer seems clear. If you can find no one else, you'll have to go yourself."

"No." Minerva felt another cat moment coming on. "No, I think that would not be a good idea."

"Surely the Headmistress of Hogwarts is capable of any task, no matter how distasteful," he said. "I would not have thought you one to shirk your duty."

"I am not _shirking_ , Severus," she snapped. "I am simply not certain I could...behave appropriately to them."

"Minerva McGonagall behave inappropriately?" His eyebrows went up in pretended shock. "I doubt that there's anyone alive who could make you do such a thing." 

"Not any more, certainly," she said with a pointed look, recalling certain late nights they had shared. At this Severus laughed outright and Minerva felt a pleasant glow of satisfaction, as she always had on the rare occasions she had made him laugh. He had never been an easy man to amuse.

"Touché," he agreed with a small smile.

"But really, you don't know how they treated him, Severus," she went on, beginning to pace. "Locked in a cupboard, half-starved, treated no better than a...a Malfoy house-elf!" Disgust and indignation stifled further speech as she recalled the anger and small-mindedness, the petty cruelty and lack of affection that had been young Potter's daily due. Even now Harry remained resolutely silent about his childhood, but Ron, Ginny and Hermione had been more forthcoming over the years and Minerva had a good working knowledge of the many injustices he had suffered growing up. 

Severus steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "One cannot always judge a child by its parents. Sirius Black, hot-headed fool though he may have been, is a case in point."

She sighed. "Yes, it was Potter's aunt and uncle, at least at first. Nevertheless, it is a fact that their son was a spoilt, malicious bully who certainly joined in as he grew older. I doubt very much that he's improved with age, or that he acquired any useful parenting skills from those two!"

"You do not know this."

"No, but one can reasonably assume—"

"Assumptions can be dangerous, Minerva," he broke in gently. "Even fatal. As you and I both have reason to know."

"Severus..." Suddenly her frustration and anger were gone. He was right, of course. Nothing was certain, and it was wrong of her to assume the boy was already a lost cause. Standing in front of Severus' portrait she raised her hand, palm outward, and rested it on the painted surface. He mirrored her movement on the other side, matching her hand with his, flesh to canvas, canvas to flesh. Her throat was suddenly tight and painful. "Severus, I am glad to have your counsel."

++==++==++==++

Although Dudley Dursley might have improved with age and his son might indeed be nothing like his father, Minerva found it difficult to hold onto that comforting thought the next afternoon in Little Whinging. The usual vague nausea of Apparating was compounded by the knot in her stomach at the thought of what she was likely to encounter.

Standing before the door of No. 4 Privet Drive, all the feelings of that long-ago day (had it really been more than thirty years?) flowed back. When she had arrived to take up her post in cat form in mid-morning, the first thing she had heard was the ill-tempered shrieking of a young child drifting from the open window. Years of teaching had honed her ability to interpret childish noise: this was the sound of a temper tantrum in full spate. Later she had watched as the tubby blond toddler, sent into the garden to play, decapitated an entire bush of glorious bronze-orange chrysanthemums, bit the tail of the neighbor's dog, and knocked over a neat stack of flowerpots. The glee on his doughy face at these acts of infant vandalism left no doubt in her mind that every one was deliberate.

Still, Minerva was not here for Dudley's sake but for his son's. She had a responsibility to all Hogwarts students, those who might be as well as those who already were, and young Frankie must be judged on his own merits. She drew a deep breath and rapped briskly on the door.

The door opened and she found herself confronted with a small blonde girl, who eyed her with interest.

"I like your hat," the girl said after a moment.

Minerva raised a hand to her head and realized she had neglected to cast a Disillusionment charm to alter her appearance to something more Muggle. Drat. "Thank you," she said. Fortunately the street was relatively deserted at this hour of the afternoon. 

"I wore one like that on Halloween last year," the girl went on. "Mummy wanted me to be a fairy princess and wear a yukky pink dress but Daddy said I didn't have to. So I didn't. I _hate_ pink."

'You have excellent taste, child," Minerva said, remembering a certain former staff member with the face of a toad and a fondness for china plates painted with kittens. "May I come in? I would like to speak to your brother."

The girl frowned. "I don't have—"

"Who is it, Frankie?" interrupted a man's voice from the other room.

"A lady in a pointy hat, Dad," the girl replied, evidently fastening on Minerva's most identifiable feature in lieu of a name.

"Pointy…?" A large man, his red face topped with scanty blond hair combed across the top to hide the fact that he was balding, stepped out of a doorway on the left-hand side of the hall and frowned at Minerva. "Here now, who are you?"

Minerva paid him no heed; all her attention was on the small blonde girl. " _You_ are Frankie Dursley?" She had expected anything but this! Intelligence, alert curiosity and eagerness were plain in the thin, pointed face that looked up at her, but also a certain wariness. More than could be accounted for simply by meeting a stranger at the door to her own house.

The girl opened her mouth to reply, then flinched and looked over her shoulder as a woman's voice snapped, "No!"

Minerva looked past Frankie at the tall, slender woman descending the stairs. Her blonde hair was mercilessly styled, smooth and perfect, not a strand out of place, her blue eyes icily condescending. She wore an expensive green linen dress, very high heels, and an expression of disdainful superiority. 

For a brief moment Minerva could have sworn she was face to face with Narcissa Malfoy. "No?" she asked politely.

"Her name is not Frankie, it's Francesca," the woman said. "Isn't it, Francesca?"

Frankie looked down at the floor. "'S Frankie," she muttered.

"Dudley," the woman said, dropping a lipstick into her bag and snapping it shut. "I thought I made it clear you were not to use that ridiculous nickname with her. She is a young woman, not some urchin."

The large man flushed guiltily. "Sorry, Deirdre, it just slipped out."

Deirdre glanced at Minerva. "Whatever you're selling, I'm quite certain we don't want it. Good day."

Calmness and diplomacy, Minerva reminded herself firmly. Calmness and diplomacy. "I am not selling anything," she said patiently. "I would simply like—"

"And if you are collecting donations for..." Deirdre paused, her eyes scanning Minerva's hair and dress, "...homeless cats or elderly spinsters, I assure you you'll get nothing here."

Really, this was too much! First a door-to-door salesperson, now some sort of beggar? "Quite the contrary," Minerva said, controlling her outrage with difficulty. "I am here to offer Frankie—Francesca—a place at our School."

"And what school might that be?" Deirdre inquired, her tone plainly suggesting that it couldn't possibly be a very good one.

"Hogwarts," Minerva replied. Time enough for "of Witchcraft and Wizardry" when they'd gotten past the introductions. 

Deirdre's face registered nothing at these words, but Minerva was torn between dismay and amusement to see that Dudley's went the color of moldy cheese and he seemed to stagger a bit.

"Are you alright, Daddy?" Frankie whispered, tugging anxiously on his arm.

"You really do look unwell, Mr Dursley," Minerva added. "Perhaps we should all sit down." The sooner they got inside the better; this was not a conversation to have in public on the doorstep.

Deirdre glanced carelessly at her husband, then stepped back and gestured Minerva in. "Oh, very well. Dudley, go sit down before you fall down."

"No, I'm—"

"You're far too fat, I keep telling you. And why are you wearing that tie?"

"Well, it's—"

"It's polyester. You can't wear a cheap polyester tie to work, people will think the company isn't doing well. You should wear that silk one Papa gave you..." They traversed the short distance from the front door to the living room, Deirdre chivvying her husband the entire way.

Minerva took one of the armchairs while Dudley, who had recovered some of his color, sank onto the sofa. Frankie plopped down on the floor at his feet. 

Deirdre remained standing, as if to suggest she did not intend to stay long. "Get _up_ , Francesca," she said in a tone of disgust. "Ladies do not sit on the floor. Ladies sit on chairs." She turned to Minerva. "I don't know what this is all about, but we have already planned Francesca's school career. She will be going to Roedean." She pronounced the name with particular emphasis, as if expecting some sort of awed response.

The name meant nothing to Minerva. "I am certain that she would receive a good education at Rowbean—"

"RoeDEAN."

"Roedean, yes, but we believe she has certain...gifts that would be better developed at Hogwarts."

"Gifts?" Deirdre gave a short laugh. "She hasn't got any, other than getting into trouble. Her hair always looks as though she'd combed it with an eggbeater, she's perpetually falling out of trees, and her 'best friend' at school is the caretaker."

At her mother's words, Frankie glanced at Minerva, a sidelong look in which the Headmistress thought she read mingled pleading and defiance.

"Deirdre, it is very expensive," Dudley ventured. "And I'm still not sure it's right for Frankie. Francesca," he corrected himself hastily.

"She's going to Roedean," Deirdre repeated tightly. "It doesn't matter if it's right for her, it matters that she meets the right people."

Deirdre's resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy, Minerva realized suddenly, ran deeper than just cold blonde hauteur: she was the Muggle version of a Pureblood. Status, money and breeding were everything to her. But surely she must have noticed something odd about her daughter here and there? "Francesca's gifts are perhaps not obvious to you as yet," Minerva said. "They are...rather rare."

"Just what are you implying? That she's defective?" Deirdre's voice rose. "That I've produced some sort of freak?"

"Nothing like that," Minerva said soothingly, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Frankie had shut her eyes and cuddled closer to her father. "But perhaps you or your husband have seen things that were...unusual? Or inexplicable? Particularly when Francesca has been angry or upset?"

For a moment Minerva saw a flash of knowledge -- and terror -- in the cold blue eyes, and then Deirdre's face went stony. "Never."

"Daddy, what about…" Frankie began, but Dudley shook his head slightly at her and put a finger to his lips, and Frankie subsided.

The look on Dudley's face as he did so, of mingled love and regret, struck Minerva as somehow familiar. She frowned, trying to place it...Oh, yes. The day she had discovered she could change a lupine to a hollyhock. She must have been eight or nine, and had run in from the garden to tell her parents. Her mother's face had had that same expression as she tried to explain to the excited Minerva why they mustn't tell her father about this wonderful thing she could do.

Deirdre paid no attention to this exchange. She waved a hand dismissively. "There' s no point in continuing this discussion any further. I have to meet Lady Trentham for coffee. Dudley, you explain it to her. Even you should be capable of asking an unwelcome guest to leave." A moment later she was gone in a cloud of Chanel and contempt.

Minerva said nothing for a long moment. Unexpectedly, she found herself feeling a certain degree of sympathy for this father and daughter.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Frankie said in a small voice. "I forgot I'm not supposed to talk about it in front of Mummy. Or other people."

Dudley sighed and rubbed a large hand over his face. "It's all right, honey. I think this lady…" He looked questioningly at Minerva.

"Professor McGonagall," she supplied.

"I think we can take it as read that Professor McGonagall already knows." Dudley's tone was resigned. "Go on outside, Frankie. Professor McGonagall and I need to talk. You can come back in a little while."

"OK, Daddy." Frankie hopped off the couch, then glanced shyly at Minerva. "But if she already knows, then when I come back, can we show her… _you_ know, the thing?"

He smiled and tousled his daughter's hair. "Sure, honey."

Minerva watched thoughtfully as the child grinned at her father and then skipped out into the garden. If his daughter loved him so much, he couldn't be _all_ bad. 

"You know exactly what I mean by 'certain gifts,' do you not, Mr Dursley?" she said, when Frankie was safely out of earshot.

"Yes." Dudley leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, head bent. He sat like that staring at the carpet, for a long moment. "She's like Harry, isn't she?" he said at last. "Magic."

He sounded resigned but not angry or afraid, and Minerva began to hope that perhaps things would work out after all. "Yes," she said bluntly. There was no point in mincing words. 

"How did you know?" He looked up at her. "You haven' t been watching me—us—all this time, have you?"

"Goodness, no," Minerva said, faintly shocked at the very idea. "Like any school, we keep very good records of our students, both past and future. Unlike most schools, however, our records are never wrong. But it seems that this does not come as a surprise to you?"

He shook his head, his gaze back on the carpet. "Little things, ever since she was a baby. I'd leave her teddy bear on the floor and find it in her crib. I'd put her in a red onesie and come back to find her in a yellow one."

"These are fairly typical incidents for an infant witch or wizard," Minerva agreed. "I myself used to make my father's bagpipes play on their own. And your wife noticed none of this?"

"Deirdre doesn't see what she doesn't want to see, and what she doesn't want to see is anything that disturbs her perfect world with her at the perfect center of it." Dudley shrugged. "Once I figured out what was going on I pretended I was doing it so she didn't have to see. And once Frankie was old enough to understand, well, we just made it our little secret."

Minerva nodded, remembering her own mother's efforts. Isobel had tried so hard to protect her husband from seeing first Minerva's talents and later those of her brothers. But they had not been able to keep up the pretense forever, and eventually Robert had had to be told. "I can sympathize with your wish to choose the least painful path," she said gently. "But surely you know this is not tenable in the long run. You must see that."

"Why not?" Dudley demanded, suddenly fierce. He stood up and began to pace the room. "Frankie's a good girl, she's getting better every day at remembering not to talk about it, not to do it where people can see. Why should we have to send her away?"

"Hogwarts is not a prison," Minerva pointed out, nettled. "Nor is attending it a punishment. This is not about 'sending her away,' it is about giving her the freedom to become who and what she is!"

"She's only eleven, she doesn't know what she wants to be!" Dudley shouted, his face redder than ever.

"In the case of young witches and wizards it is not a matter of what they want to be, but what they are," Minerva said. "Frankie is a witch, Mr Dursley. Her magic is a part of her just as much as her blonde hair and blue eyes, and no amount of hiding or lying will change that. Indeed, it may hurt her very much."

Dudley stopped his pacing and his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, hurt her?"

Minerva hesitated. How could she put it in terms he could understand, without seeming to threaten or frighten him? "Mr Dursley, may I ask, what is it you do?"

"Do?" He stared at her. "About what?"

"For a living. What is your career, your job?"

"What in the name of God does this have to do with Frankie?" he shouted.

"Please, Mr Dursley, bear with me," she said, raising her hands placatingly. "I assure you it is very much connected with Frankie."

He huffed out an angry breath. "I own Grunnings."

"And who or what is a grunning?"

"Not _a_ grunning," he said impatiently. "Grunnings, Incorporated. It's a company. Manufactures drills."

"Drills." Really, the Muggle world had so many peculiar things in it. "I see. And is this what you wanted to do, when you were younger? To own this company?"

Dudley moved to the bay window that overlooked the street and gazed out for a long moment, then he spread his fingers and looked down at his hands. "No," he said finally. "I wanted to be a plumber."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "You wished to grow plums? Forgive me, but I should not have taken you for a gardener."

"A plumber. With a B. It's a man who mends pipes and drains and things." He flushed. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but I like doing things with my hands. Welding. Fittings. I never wanted anything to do with Grunnings. Or with managing anybody. Dad pushed me into it."

"How then did you come to own this company?"

"The old fashioned way," he said with a wry smile. "I married the boss' daughter. And you can bet she never lets me forget it. Never misses a chance to tell me she could have done better, either—how she was once proposed to by the second son of Lord Thingummy or could have married the Earl of Whatsit."

Minerva looked around the room, at the delicate china knick-knacks on the mantel, the crystal candlesticks on either side of the gold-framed mirror, the heavy velvet curtains, the dove-grey carpet. All very expensive, and all Deirdre, no doubt. "And how do you feel about this, Mr Dursley? Your father forcing into a position you did not want, in a company you did not care about, doing a job you dislike?"

He shrugged but did not meet her eyes. "It's a living."

Minerva sighed. Muggles were so good at lying to themselves. "It is _not_ a living, Mr Dursley. Or rather, it is not _living_."

"Nonsense," he said, puffing up defensively. "What d'you mean?"

"I think you know precisely what I mean, every day, when you sit at that desk, and talk, and move bits of paper around, when you'd rather be..." She hesitated, groping for the word. "Plumbing." Whatever that was. "Mr Dursley, are you happy?"

"Happy..." A look of dumb misery crossed Dudley's face but was quickly transformed into anger. "No, I'm not happy. In fact I'd say I'm very unhappy. Is that what you want to hear? All right, I'm bloody miserable!" His voice rose to a shout on the last word. "And just what does that have to do with Frankie, I'd like to know?"

Minerva stood up, suddenly furious at his obstinate, willful blindness. "The misery you feel is nothing to what a witch or wizard feels who is prevented from using their power at all! Imagine that you were denied the use of your eyes, or your legs, or your arms. Imagine your present misery multiplied a hundredfold, a thousandfold; imagine it eating at you constantly, day and night, as though part of you were bound and gagged, until—" She broke off. Suppressing one's magic, if it were sufficiently powerful, could drive a witch or wizard mad, even cause death, but she preferred to tell him that only as a last resort. Far better if he made this decision freely, not resentfully or feeling that he had been bullied or frightened into it. "Is this what you want for your daughter?"

Dudley stared at her. "But it's just...she only does a little bit of it. And she doesn't have to never do it. She could still do it once in a while, when she was somewhere safe and no one could see it." He was almost pleading with her.

"Magic, Mr Dursley, magic—not 'it' as if it were a lost pet or an embarrassing personal habit," Minerva said with some asperity. "If you could only use your eyes once a month, would that satisfy you?"

From the back garden came the sound of Frankie's voice in animated discussion with someone, and Dudley drooped, deflated, like a dirigible plum whose juice had been sucked out. "I just want her to be happy," he whispered.

Minerva sniffed. "Naturally we cannot guarantee happiness, Mr Dursley. No one can do that. But I can guarantee that if you allow her to attend Hogwarts, Frankie will have an excellent chance of achieving happiness on her own."

The door banged open and Frankie came running in, her face alight with glee. "Daddy, what d'you think?" she said breathlessly. "Maisie Brunson from down the street was being hateful, she pulled my hair and threw a rock at a bird and kicked Mrs Next Door's dog, and I shouted at her and then she blew up and floated into the air like a balloon, and now she's stuck in a tree!" She giggled. "D'you think we should put a pin on the end of a stick and pop her?"

Dudley looked at Minerva over Frankie's blonde head. "Well, then," he said ruefully. "I guess that's that. Would you mind...?"

Minerva inclined her head graciously. "I shall go and remove Miss Brunson from her tree." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a square envelope addressed in green ink and sealed with the Hogwarts crest, which she handed to Frankie. "Meanwhile, Miss Dursley, I believe this belongs to you."

++==++==++==++

Minerva had not intended to chaperon Frankie and her father on their trip to buy the girl's school supplies. She was the Headmistress, after all, and there were many demands on her time. Standard procedure was to simply provide those parents who needed it with directions on how to reach Diagon Alley and leave them to it, in no small part because this shared adventure provided a gentle introduction to the Wizarding world for both the child and his or her parents.

And yet somehow, here she was in the front room of Ollivander's, watching as Frankie tried out her tenth -- or was it eleventh? -- wand...

+++

The week after Hogwarts' end of term Minerva had visited the house on Privet Drive to deliver the instructions for reaching Diagon Alley. Deirdre was out; Minerva did not ask how Dudley had managed to persuaded her to agree to Frankie's change of school (though she did notice that several of the china ornaments were missing from the mantelpiece, and her left boot had trodden on a shard of something that crunched suspiciously).

She explained briefly about Diagon Alley and the purchase of school supplies, then handed Dudley a folded piece of parchment. Dudley opened it and jumped as a disembodied female voice began speaking in dulcet tones.

"Directions to Diagon Alley via the Leaky Cauldron, provided by WPS, the Wizard Positioning System. The Leaky Cauldron is located between 48 Charing Cross Road and 12 Great Newport Street. You are at Number Four Privet Drive. If traveling by Muggle means, you may reach 48 Charing Cross Road using your preferred Muggle method -- automobile, Underground, coach, mule train, or on foot -- and then re-open this envelope. If traveling by broom..." 

Dudley closed the envelope and looked at her in bemusement. "Mule train? What the bloody hell is this?"

"Automated navigation," Minerva replied, somewhat stiffly. "The latest in magical technology." She chose to interpret the sound Dudley made as a stifled cough.

"Yes, right," he said, clearing his throat. "But I was thinking we'd just, well, order whatever she needs."

"Order?" Minerva said. "have you an owl?"

"A what? No, no, through the post."

"The post..." she repeated faintly. "I'm sorry, but that is quite out of the question."

Dudley stuck out his lower lip, and Minerva was reminded vividly of the small fat blond boy in that long-ago garden. "Well, I won't have her going there."

"Whyever not?" she said in astonishment. "It's quite safe, as long as you stay out of Knockturn Alley. Thought I would advise not getting drawn into any arguments down in Fillosahfic Alley— it's quite easy to get terribly turned about down there."

"I won't have people making fun of her or running her down, that's all," he said. "She gets enough of that from her mother."

"I assure you, Mr Dursley, no one will do such a thing," Minerva said, completely puzzled. "Why in Merlin's name would they?"

"Oh they will, all right," he retorted. "Harry's famous, isn't he? Everybody in your world knows his name, don't they? And I'm sure he's told everyone what a yob I was to him. Soon's they hear her name they'll know, and they'll be wanting to take it out on her. No," he shook his head. "I won't have her paying for my mistakes, and that's flat."

Minerva felt herself warming, unwillingly, towards this large, blundering man. "Mr Dursley, I understand your concern, but I assure you that no one will insult your daughter. What's past is past. And she really must buy her supplies herself. While it is remotely possible that Flourish & Blott's might be persuaded to ship Frankie her textbooks through the, er, 'post,' there is still the question of her wand and familiar."

"A wand, that's just a stick, right? Can't they just bung one in a box and send it?" he asked hopefully.

Minerva's lips twitched as she pictured Garrick Ollivander's righteous outrage at such a statement. "A familiar is a living creature. As is a wand, in some ways. These things cannot be purchased except in person."

"What about if you took her?" he suggested. "Nobody'd say anything if you were with her. And it might help if...well, if somebody tried anything later, they'd remember that they saw her with you..."

+++

Minerva sat at a table of age-blackened wood in the back of the Leaky Cauldron with Dudley Dursley, a pint in front of him and a pot of tea in front of her. Frankie was chatting with Hannah Abbott, who was behind the bar, entertaining her with showers of sparks from her newly acquired wand (aspen, eleven inches long, with a kelpie hair core).

"I was jealous, you know," Dudley said, watching his daughter with a fond smile. "I was just this big stupid lump, and he was so smart, so quick. And he could do all those tricks. Who'd have thought my little girl..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

Minerva sipped her tea, savoring the delicate flavor. The Leaky's food and drink was much improved since Neville and Hannah had taken over, thank Merlin. "It can be very difficult when a family has both magic and non-magic children. Great care must be taken that neither one feels overly special. Or freakish. I do think it is easier to be a Muggle-born than a Squib, however—"

"A squid?" Dudley said, startled.

"A Squib. That is what we in the Wizarding world call a non-magic child born into a Wizarding family."

Dudley's eyes widened. "That can happen?"

"Oh, yes. It's a difficult situation since the parents are naturally disappointed. There is still some prejudice -- it's considered something of a failure, to produce a Squib. In the case of a Muggle-born, however, the opposite often happens: the parents are thrilled at their child's unsuspected talent and dote excessively on the them, leaving the other feeling slighted."

Dudley nodded. "Like my mum and Aunt Lily."

MM pursed her lips. "Lily was a delightful child and an extraordinarily talented witch, but it was…unfortunate that her parents did not recognize and applaud your mother's talents equally. A dancer, was she not?"

"Yeah. She gave it up when she was sixteen. She never talked about it, but I think it was like you said, she didn't feel like it was good enough anymore, not compared with what Aunt Lily could do."

There was a loud bang from the end of the bar and they looked around to see Hannah Abbott laughing and Frankie looking guiltily at a heavy iron griddle hanging on the wall, which now sported a hole in the center.

"Here, let me teach you _Reparo_ ," they heard Hannah say. "I have a feeling you're going to need it."

Dudley grinned. "She gets her brains and her looks from her mother, that's for sure, but I don't know where she gets that cheerful disposition. Maybe from her gran."

"Your mother?" Minerva said, surprised. "Cheerful" was not a word she would have thought to associate with Petunia Dursley.

"Lord no. Deirdre's mum. Sweetest old lady you'd ever want to meet." 

Minerva looked at him thoughtfully. "And what does she get from you, Mr Dursley?" 

"Love," he said defiantly, as though she might doubt him. "I never knew I could love anything as much as I love her. It helps me understand, just a little, how my mum could have treated Harry the way she did. Not that it was right," he added hastily at Minerva's frown. "But she did it out of love. Because she was afraid, and she wanted to protect me. Like I'd do anything to protect Frankie." 

"Of that I have no doubt," Minerva agreed. "She is fortunate. A loving parent is a great gift for a child -- two are better," she added, thinking of Deirdre Dursley's condescending neglect, "but one will do in a pinch."

Dudley did not seem to have heard her last words. "Funnily enough, that's what changed how I felt about Harry."

Minerva reheated her tea with a flick of her wand, bringing it back to just below a simmer, and refilled her cup. "What do you mean?"

Dudley took a long drink of his pint, an uneasy expression on his face, as though remembering something he would rather forget. "That night those...things attacked us, those grey things, Dimmers or Dentures or whatever."

"Dementors?"

"Yeah, that's what he called them. When they attacked us, Harry could have run off. He could have left me behind and let them get me. But he didn't." Dudley stared into the depths of his pint. "He had no reason to stay and protect me, none at all. Hell, I wouldn't have if I'd been him. But he did."

Minerva smiled to herself. Harry and his saving-people thing.

"At first I was angry," Dudley went on. "I didn't want to owe him anything. I pretended it was no big deal, that I could have gotten away on my own. But I kept dreaming about them..." He shook himself like a dog coming out of the water. "Brrr. Well, the fact is I would have died if it weren't for him. I know it. But I never told him."

Minerva said nothing, she simply waited. She had listened to many confessions over the years, and could tell when there was more to come.

"And then that last summer," Dudley went on as if to himself, "when we had to pack up and get out of town and Mum and Dad said we were leaving him behind, what did I say? Did I argue or tell them they were wrong? Oh no, the best I could come up with was 'I don't think you're a waste of space.' " He barked out a harsh laugh. "Fine bit of backbone that was. They say all bullies are cowards; I guess I'm living proof of that."

And there it was, she thought: the thing that had been festering. "You are being far too hard on yourself. You were a child who had been raised to behave in a certain way; it takes time to overcome that, to learn to think for oneself. Some never manage it at all."

"I'm thirty-five, don't you think that's time enough?" he said, and she was surprised at the depth of bitterness in his voice.

"You must let this go, Mr Dursley." Minerva's voice was firm, what Severus had always called her broomstick voice because it swept aside all nonsense. "You recognized your debt to Harry, and you stood up to your parents for him, even if in a small way. Don't underestimate the importance of that for a child."

Dudley snorted. "As if it matters to anyone."

Minerva finished the last of her tea. "It matters to Harry."

Dudley stared at her. "He...what?"

"He has never forgotten it. It meant a great deal to him at that moment, to have a kind word from someone—anyone—in his mother's family. More than you can possibly know."

"But...it was...I didn't..."

"Do stop sputtering, Mr Dursley," Minerva said kindly, deciding that she rather liked this big bumbling man, for all his past faults and current flaws. "I think it would be a very good thing for you and Harry to renew old acquaintances." She glanced over at Frankie, who was watching intently as Hannah demonstrated something that involved drawing glowing lines on the surface of the bar. "Your daughter is embarking on a new life; you, too, may find a healing of old wounds and a new beginning."

++==++==++==++

September 1, 2015

Minerva sat at the Head Table watching the First Years shuffle their feet and look nervously at one another as they waited to be sorted into their houses. Frankie's blond head was there in front, right next to—Merlin help us—Fred Weasley, Jr.

The Sorting Hat opened its brim and began to sing.

_You've heard of me, I know it,_  
 _And you know what I'm about:_  
 _My job's to peek inside your head_  
 _And turn you inside out._  
 _To rummage through your fondest hopes_  
 _And prod your deepest fears,_  
 _To ponder who and what you'll be_  
 _In lo! these seven years._  
 _I do this so that I can choose_  
 _The House where you will live:_  
 _The one that offers what you need_  
 _And needs that which you give._

_If loyalty's your forte,_  
 _Firm friendship, strong and true,_  
 _It may turn out that Hufflepuff's_  
 _The proper House for you._  
 _Audacious? Quick to join a fray_  
 _And give your foes what for?_  
 _If so then you may find yourself_  
 _At home in Gryffindor._  
 _Have you a yen for knowledge?_  
 _A sharp and agile mind?_  
 _Love mysteries and riddles?_  
 _Then for Ravenclaw I'll find._  
 _If means do not concern you --_  
 _If the end's what matters most --_  
 _If guile and craft attract you,_  
 _Slytherin will be your host._

_If I do my job correctly_  
 _You will flourish where you're placed_  
 _You and your House will profit_  
 _No matter what you face._  
 _But here's the trick -- and mind me well!--_  
 _Although mine is the voice_  
 _That speaks your House, it isn't true_  
 _That only mine's the choice._  
 _For though I look both deep and true,_  
 _I choose with your consent:_  
 _Tis truly said the tree will grow_  
 _The way the twig is bent._

_Now one last lesson -- hark now,_  
 _Tis a lesson you will need!_  
 _Of all the things I'll say tonight,_  
 _This one I hope you'll heed._  
 _Though House 'gainst House has always_  
 _Been the way that things are done,_  
 _Still you must all remember:_  
 _In the end it's just for fun._  
 _These Houses must not foster_  
 _Seeds of anger, pride or hate --_  
 _For in the end it's friendship_  
 _That will shape the ends of fate._  
 _We all have gifts to offer,_  
 _Though we differ in our arts:_  
 _Together we become far more_  
 _Than the sum of all our parts._

It was with a certain sense of inevitability that Minerva heard the Hat shout "Gryffindor!" for both Frankie and Fred, Jr. , and watched them elbow each other in friendly contest. The year, she thought, should prove an interesting one, and wondered if she was too young to retire.


End file.
